


Christopher the Stray

by AntagonizedPenguin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Human Man, Human Man Tries to Have Sex with Catboy, M/M, catboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntagonizedPenguin/pseuds/AntagonizedPenguin
Summary: "I hate cats. They are selfish, self-centred and couldn't give a damn about other people. And just because all of those things mean the same thing doesn't make them any less true. They are hedonistic, rude and lazy. Everything they see belongs to them and Heaven help anyone who thinks otherwise.So I should have known better."
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Christopher the Stray

**Author's Note:**

> This little story has no bearing on anything, I just found it on my computer and thought it might be fun to post it here. 
> 
> It's kind of a throwback--I wrote it literally ten years ago today, according to the date on the file. So it was fun to read over for me, haha. Hopefully you guys will think so too!

I hate cats. They are selfish, self-centred and couldn't give a damn about other people. And just because all of those things mean the same thing doesn't make them any less true. They are hedonistic, rude and lazy. Everything they see belongs to them and Heaven help anyone who thinks otherwise. 

So I should have known better. When I saw the two of them on that retaining wall by the beach on my way home from work I should have just kept walking. But I didn't. I stopped, like a big idiot, looking at the cute kitties. 

They hadn't noticed me yet. They were just sitting there, nosing each other for God only knew what cat reason. They grey tabby had its back to me, but it wasn't the one I had so foolishly stopped to watch. 

He was the most adorable creature I've ever seen. Not my usual type; normally I go for, you know, women. Who are all...human, and everything, with the boobs and the legs and the hair and whatnot. But...he was just perfect. His tail hung languidly over one side of the wall, upon which he must have been scraping his bare legs and arms as he knelt forward, though he showed no signs of anything but contentment. His face, lovely by any measure, was crowned by a mess of too-long brown hair and his hat—a souvenir from the amusement park across town, by the looks of it—was askew, revealing one plush looking ear on top of his head. 

So I just kind of stood there like some stupid kid, watching him and mentally slapping myself for the way I had thought of the cat population of the world until now. I mean, he couldn't possibly be the inconsiderate, wantonly destructive, endorphin-obsessed type that I usually thought of when I saw a cat. He was too perfect. I just had this urge to grab him, take him home, feed him, bathe him, undress him—no, strike that, the undressing would have to come before the bath—and then take him into my bedroom and...Well, everyone knows the stories of cats and their sex drives. 

He must have sensed that I was undressing him with my mind, as he looked away from his important cat business and right at me, his tail perking up at the sight of me. The other cat turned, regarded me, leapt from the wall and was gone before you could say 'haughty dismissal.' Oh, well, no big loss.

He slid down, righted himself and approached me, that look in his eyes that cats have where you're just like a piece of furniture, or food, if you're lucky. He stopped right in front of me—obviously, personal space is not a big thing for cats—and looked me up and down, hands on his hips. 

Then he hugged me, practically leaping at me to throw his arms around me and rub his cheek against the front of my shirt. 

"Uh...hi." I said. Many parts of me were embarrassingly happy at this contact; one in particular had to be poking right into him, but the cat didn't seem to notice. 

"Hi." He purred. "You smell nice."

That would be the chicken soup I'd spilled on my shirt at lunchtime. "Thanks?" I mean, what else are you supposed to say to something like that? "Do you have a name?" He didn't really look like my idea of a stray, but he was also outside by himself at six o'clock in the afternoon and had no collar on. 

"Christopher." He still hadn't let go of me.

"That's a nice name."

"I know." 

Of course he did. "Are you lost, Christopher? Do you have a house somewhere, or..." Please say no, please say no...

"Nope." Yes! "I'm all by myself. Nobody loves me." 

"I do. I mean!" Shit. "I'm Geoffrey."

Christopher turned his head to look up at me. "That's a bad name." He stuck out his tongue to illustrate. 

Well. Uh... "Sorry?" 

"It's okay." That seemed to placate him, and he let go of me. "I gotta go find somewhere to sleep before it gets dark. Bye!" He turned, leaped back onto the wall and started off down its length. 

"Wait!" Oh, did I really just say that? I must have, because he turned back and looked at me with that pretty face and those inquisitive eyes. "Why don't you come sleep at my house tonight?" As I finished speaking, all the stories my mother had ever told my sister about bringing stray cats home surfaced in my mind, all about how they would eat all your food and wreck the furniture and leave anyway once they were bored. But alongside those came a series of images of Christopher lying in my bed with me, thanking me profusely for bringing him in so he wouldn't have to sleep outside in the cold July night. The decision was never really up to me anyway. My other brain made it without consulting me. 

"Okay!" Christopher ran back my way and this time he really did jump on me, throwing his arms around my neck and wrapping legs around my waist. I staggered, but kept my feet and put my arms around him as a reflex. Guess he wasn't the cautious type. He started licking my ear, which made it hard to remember what I was going to say.

It came eventually. "My house is close to here." 

"Carry me?" He asked. "Please?" 

"Uh..." Well, it would look a little strange to anyone watching if I were to walk down the street carrying the cat like this, especially since Christopher was still licking me. On the other hand, he wasn't that heavy and it might just be easier in the long run; it was a good way to avoid having him run off, or something. "Sure, I guess."

"Yay!" He tightened his hold on me and I started walking. I wondered where to hold him, wanting to support from, ahem, underneath; but that would've been a bit obvious. I settled for securing him around the waist. The aforementioned happy part of me was poking straight up and into his behind anyway, but he didn't seem to mind. I took that as a good sign. 

As I said, my house was pretty close. It was only a five minute walk. At least, it was a five minute walk when I wasn't carrying ninety pounds of Christopher. So I considered it good time when we got there in fifteen. He eventually got bored with licking me and just put his head down on my shoulder and rested until we got there. 

I put him down on the front porch. "Here we are." Christopher rubbed at his eyes as I fished my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door; as soon as it was open wide enough he ran inside.

"Wow! This big house is all yours?" He was standing in the foyer, looking around at everything with wide eyes. 

"Yep." Well, ninety-five percent of it technically belonged to the bank, but there was no point in confusing him with trivial details. I grabbed the mail before I went in—among that was a letter from the aforementioned bank reminding me that I had yet to pay them for the privilege of living in their lovely house this month—and tossed it all on a table by the door with my keys. "Here, let me show you where everything is." He didn't need to know where anything was except the bedroom, as far as I was concerned, but I could be hospitable for a while first. 

"I'm hungry." He announced.

I smiled and patted his head. Of course he was, poor stray. "I'll make some supper after I show you around." 

"Yay!"

So I showed him the living room, where he ignored the huge TV but seemed very interested in my leather sofa; the kitchen, where he didn't hear anything I said because he was plotting the death of a platter of apples my cleaning service had left in a nice pyramid on the counter; the door out to the backyard and the half-bathroom, neither of which he showed any interest in; and the dining room, where he tried to climb up my grandmother's huge armoire that I keep all my dishes and extra linens in. 

"There's not really anything upstairs," I said, headed up said stairs, "except for my bedroom and the other bathroom. I use the spare rooms for storage and office space, so you'll have to sleep in my room, okay?" 

No answer. I turned around, and Christopher wasn't there. "Christopher?" I went back down the stairs, looking into the rooms. Where had he gone?

I found him back in the kitchen, inspecting those apples again like he was going to perform surgery on them. "Christopher?"

"I'm hungry." He said again, and took one from the pile.

Of course, he didn't take the one that was on top, as would have, you know, made sense. No, Christopher decided he needed to have the one from the bottom corner, so three seconds later there were apples all over my kitchen floor. He leapt back with a small yelp and bolted from the room. 

I sighed. There was no point in getting all annoyed; he was just a cat, he didn't know any better. Besides, how could anyone get angry with something that perfect? It would be like getting mad at Jesus for leaving the toilet seat up. So I picked up the apples and washed them, and tried vainly to put them back in their pyramid for a few minutes, before giving up and getting out a bowl from the cupboard. 

"Are you okay, Christopher?" When I was done, I followed him into the living room. I imagined him hiding somewhere, so upset that I might be mad at him. I would have to sit him on my lap to comfort him, and...

Oh. He was sleeping. The apple core was sitting on my coffee table and he was curled up on the sofa. His hat had fallen off and his ears were twitching as he dreamed, his tail swishing back and forth. "Okay, then."

Well, it was still early. It wasn't as though we had to get to the main event right this minute. I retrieved the apple core from the table and went back into the kitchen. I'd make supper while he was sleeping. When he woke up, we could eat, and then go to bed...

Now what did cats like? Fish? Fish was good. And I even had some, somewhere. I dug it out and set it in the microwave to defrost while I hunted up some instant rice to make with it. Haute cuisine, thy name is not Geoffrey. But who cares?

Once everything was done, I divided it up onto two plates and carried it into the living room. I don't usually eat in there, beyond potato chips and tequila when I'm watching TV, but I figured I'd make the exception. 

"Hey." I sat in the chair, setting his plate in front of him, on top of the smudge the apple core had made in the glass top. "Christopher." 

"Ng." He shifted in his sleep, but that was it.

"Are you still hungry?"

"Yeah!" And all of the sudden he was awake, sitting upright with his eyes on the food. He dove on the dish, eating the fish up with his fingers. I suppose I should have been grateful that he was at least not eating straight from the plate. 

I had taken perhaps two bites and he was done; the fish, anyway. He poked at the rice a bit and put some on his tongue, before sticking it out and pushing his plate away. He then proceeded to stare at my plate. "Are you still hungry?" Of course he was. There was not exactly a plethora of food out on the streets, was there? He nodded, his eyes not moving from my dinner. I cut my fish in half and slid a piece his way. "Here." 

He snatched it up before I had even moved the fork away, inhaling more than actually eating it. Then, with my fork in my mouth, he reached over and stole the other half of my fish and bolted over the back of the sofa, where he ate that as well. "Hey!" But I smiled. He was so cute. 

Christopher suddenly ran from the room, and I could hear him bounding up the stairs. Excellent. I stood, figuring I would eat later. It wasn't as though I had the strong desire to consume plain rice anyway. Following where he had gone, I found him sitting at the top of the stairs, licking his hands. As I started up to him, he grinned at me and ran again, into the bathroom this time. Was this how cats did foreplay? Well, I would catch him in the end. There were only so many places for him to run. And then he would be all mine...

He was sitting in the bathtub when I got up there, batting at the faucet distractedly. "Caught you." I said upon entering. 

The cat turned and smiled at me again. "Nope. I'm over here and you're over there." 

Well, there was some truth in that. So I approached the tub slowly and then pounced at him, hoping to catch him by surprise. It didn't work. He leapt back, and I crashed into the wall, hitting the taps on the way. The showerhead turned on, cold water flying to hit Christopher directly on the head. He yelped, jumping over me and tearing from the room. "Shit." I turned the water off as I rose, and could hear the back door slamming shut. "Shit." 

I was down the stairs and in the backyard before you could say "cockblocker," fearing I would find nothing, the cat having been scared into flight. But Christopher was there, sitting in the big maple in the corner of my yard. Water still dripped from his hair and his shirt was see-through from the damp. He was shivering and glaring at me.

"Christopher..."

"You're mean! I don't like you anymore!"

"It was an accident! I didn't mean..."

"No! You're mean!" He climbed a few branches higher to illustrate this point. 

"Just come down! You need to dry off and get warm." He continued climbing. "Christopher!" Fine. I would get him down myself. 

Now, when I said this tree was big I was lying. This tree was friggin' huge. I don't generally go more than ten feet off the ground without an elevator, so I got more and more nervous as I climbed, the cat always going higher to keep away from me. The branches got thinner and thinner and eventually I couldn't go any higher, for fear that they would snap when I put weight on them. Christopher was standing just out of my reach, clearly contemplating going higher. "Christopher, don't. It's too dangerous." He looked at me, not seeming quite as angry anymore. "You need to come down and dry off." 

"Okay." That surprised me. He started doing just that, but taking a path through the branches that led him away from me. He was on the ground again so quickly I'd have sworn he'd fallen if I hadn't seen him climb it. I thought cats weren't supposed to be able to get down from trees themselves? I started down myself, though of course he didn't wait. I heard the screen door slam again before I had gone down so much as a foot. 

Going down was harder than going up, so what had taken Christopher two minutes took me twenty. Eventually I made it, intact but for one tear in my pants and a mouthful of leaves. Spitting those out, I went back inside. Now where was he? It was getting close to bedtime, and it was time to charge him rent for letting him sleep in my house. 

I went through the whole house twice, calling him, but of course he didn't come. I started to think maybe he'd fled the house for real this time when I found him in the dining room, on top of that big stupid armoire. He was sleeping again, stretched out like in the midst of some chiropractic exercise. I called his name, but he didn't wake up. 

Theoretically, I could have climbed up the thing and grabbed him, but it's eight feet tall and five wide, three deep. It's solid oak and weighs about a tonne. I was reasonably confident that it was heavy enough not to fall on me, but if the laws of physics betrayed me then I'd be crushed to death. Besides, if my mother ever found out I'd used her mother's antique armoire as a stepladder, she'd burn my house down. After, of course, making me move the stupid thing into my sister's place. 

I'm not in the habit of giving up, but I did. Until morning, anyway. I would get up early and we could have some fun before I went to work. Ha, that would make the rest of the day more bearable. Especially knowing he'd be waiting for me when I got home, too. So I ate two platefuls of cold rice, took a Lunesta, washed it down with a bottle of beer and went to bed. Had to get down early; I leave for work at seven, so I'd have to be up by five to have time to play with my new cat.

I was pleasantly groggy and fell asleep quickly. The dreams I had were about Christopher, writhing on my bed moaning, crying my name as I took him and made him all mine, begging me for more, bucking so hard the bed made a banging noise against the wall in an irregular pattern...

Was it my orgasm that woke me up? Maybe. But, half-conscious as I was, I became slowly aware that the banging sound from the dream hadn't faded with awakening. It was actually coming from downstairs. The hell? The alarm clock informed me that it was two-thirty in the morning with its screeching red numbers as I got out of bed and stumbled my way to the door. 

I only nearly killed myself once on the stairs as I made my way down. Near the bottom, something streaked by, out of the kitchen and into the living room. Something with a tail. Christopher? What in the name of hell was he doing running around at this time of night?

Falling down the last few steps, I peered around the corner into the living room. The cat was crouching on the back of the sofa, spinning in a circle as he tried to catch his errant tail. Huh. I thought that was only a dog thing. As I watched, he fell from the back and landed in a pile. 

He spotted me when he stood, and just enough light was filtering in from the streetlamp outside for me to see his smile. "Play with me!" He called out. A quick glance around the room showed where the banging had been coming from. The chair was overturned, the sofa cushions were on the floor, along with just about everything else that was small enough. Apparently, while I'd been dreaming about him, Christopher had been demolishing my house.

"It's two-thirty in the morning, Christopher." Of course he wanted to play now. Where had that attitude been six hours ago? 

"What's that?"

"I'm sleeping." 

"No you're not." He looked at my sideways, like he would see a different picture that way. 

"I'm..." The wet tent in the front of my boxers was telling me that now was just fine for a little play; but now my real brain surfaced from dormancy. If I went to work having been up since two in the morning, even doing something like entertaining the cat, I would undoubtedly do something stupid and get fired. Which would be bad. "Can you wait a couple more hours? I promise to play with you then." I was planning on being up at five anyway, might as well make it four. Those two extra hours would make the difference. 

"Really?" Those huge eyes gleamed with joy in the low light.

"Yeah." I yawned. "I'll even teach you a fun new game, okay?" Oh, so very fun...

"Yay!" He pounced straight up back onto the sofa in delight.

"Okay. I'll be back in a little while. Just wait until then, okay?"

Christopher nodded gravely. 

"Great. I'll be back." And I went back upstairs. I managed to change the alarm before falling into bed again, where I didn't dream at all.

The inane beeping woke me up again not two seconds later, though the clock insisted it was now four-fifteen. My first thought was: _Why in the hell am I up so early?_ But then I remembered. Christopher! I leapt from bed and shucked my boxers, grabbing a bathrobe from the back of the door. The tie wouldn't tie, so I left it undone. Didn't need it anyway. Condoms! Did I need them? Probably. Who knew what kind of diseases cats had? I had a big box of them in my bedside table, so I quickly grabbed a handful. That should do until we got back upstairs, I thought. Actually...I dropped all but one in the bathrobe pocket, ripping open the last package. Best to get ready now while I was less distracted than I planned to be downstairs. I pulled the rubber over my iron-hard self, then rushed out of the room, holding my robe shut with one hand as I flew down the stairs. "Christopher? I'm ready to play now!"

There was no answer. In fact, the house was pretty quiet. I went into the living room, where I'd last seen him, which was a disaster. Clearly, he'd continued playing after I went back to bed. Fortunately, I had people to clean this stuff up for me. But there was something odd. The front door was open.

I crossed the room, stepping carefully over what had used to be a lamp, and into the foyer. It was still pretty dark outside, and my paper wasn't even there yet. I stepped on one of the envelopes I'd brought in yesterday, which was strange, since the others were sitting untouched on the table. I picked it up, groping the wall until I hit the light switch. The back of it was scribbled with a note, written in scratchy, uneven letters. 

_You took too long, so I went to find somewhere more fun. Thanks for letting me stay in your house, weird guy!_

And then a big, wavy C underneath. 

Well, shit. I mean, fuck goddamn. I heard a shuffling outside and looked up hopefully, assuming Christopher had seen the light on and come back. But it was just my paperboy, who was staring at me aghast. Which made me remember that I was standing there with my front door wide open wearing nothing but a bathrobe and a condom. He dropped the paper and ran to the next house on his route without a word. Shit.

Turns out my mom was right. Cats. Hate them. And this is frigging why. Selfish, destructive, ostentatious creatures. 

Maybe I should get a dog...


End file.
